Earnest, Texas—one day before the Diamond Cowboy Classic
Once again, Carma sprawled alone on her patio, brooding up at the pulsing twinkle of the planet Venus. In the old story, a young woman gazed at what the Blackfeet called Morning Star and declared that she wanted to marry him because he was the brightest of all. Hearing her vow, he took human form and came down to earth to claim her as his bride and take her up to the Sky world to live with him forever.
In Carma’s experience, a man might be brought down to earth, but once she lifted him up again he floated away, glittering out of her reach.
And yes, that was her damned insecurity talking, but it had an annoying habit of making valid points.
Things had been better since the night Gil had all but collapsed. At least he let her really touch him now. But tomorrow he would step back onto the rodeo stage. It had already started. Carma had fielded the calls herself, after the list of contestants had been posted on the website last week and a few eagle eyes had spotted his name. Is that the Gil Sanchez? Delon’s brother? Isn’t he too, um…well, you know?
Her answers had been abrupt. Yes. Yes. And no, whether they were referring to his age or his physical condition. If they were a member of the media, she’d emailed them the press release Delon had insisted they put together. Gil shrugged off the potential stir he was going to cause. Nobody was interested in his ancient history.
Delon knew better. He was the reigning world champion, and Gil was the tragic could-have-been, a talent possibly even bigger than his brother. The story would be irresistible to the promoters of an event that billed itself as the David versus Goliath of rodeo.
If Gil did make a splash—well, any man or woman could get swept up in the rush of attention and lose track of who they were leaving behind. God knew Carma could personally testify to that.
In the dense branches above her, an unseen owl hooted and another answered. The cicadas whirred incessantly. And softly, a guitar joined the nightly serenade. She turned her head and found Gil leaning against the trunk of the nearest tree.
He stepped out of the shadows, and her pulse took an uneven bound. Lord, he was something to look at, as chiseled as the jagged peaks of her mountains—something else she could never quite possess but still yearned for in a deep, indefinable way. She rolled to sit cross-legged so she could admire every cocksure inch of him, right down to the classic, toed-out bareback rider’s gait.
“You’ve got your cowboy swagger back,” she said.
He stopped at the edge of the blanket. “Nothing makes you strut like winning third at a podunk open rodeo where you’re the only one old enough to shave.”
She shrugged. “You got more out of that horse than most would.”
The previous weekend they’d slipped a few hours up the road into Colorado, where Gil wasn’t likely to be recognized on sight, and he’d entered as Gilbert Yazzie—borrowing his mother’s name and hometown. One competition to work out some jitters before the big day.
Even on a belly-kicking nag he’d looked amazing. So strong. And so fast. The young punks had snapped to attention, while Carma’s heart—and a few other key body parts—had quivered at the sight of him sauntering back to the chutes, hat pulled low and shoulders thrown back.
He sat down facing her now, also cross-legged, and settled the guitar in his lap. It was the first time he’d brought it along since the night of the thunderstorm. “What do you want?”
“Excuse me?”
He hefted the guitar. “Anything you want to hear. I’m taking requests.”
Her heart fluttered. She’d never been serenaded. And she’d never heard Gil sing, but judging by Quint’s solo at the spring choir concert, she was probably in for a treat.
Honestly, the Sanchez boys really were good at everything.
“Um, what about ‘Wild Horses’?” she asked, then cringed. The Rolling Stones classic sounded romantic, but was actually about a relationship that never quite worked. Once, when it came on the pickup radio during one of their fights, Carma had told Jayden it was the story of their lives.
Or maybe just hers.
Gil’s forehead scrunched. “It’s been a while, but I think I can remember all the lyrics.”
Then he started to sing, and she just melted. His voice was slightly rough, like velvet stroked against the grain. When he reached the chorus, the combination of the music, the moonlight, and the way he sang about wild horses not being able to drag him away was so achingly poignant that she couldn’t stand it. She toppled onto her back, the music washing over and through her as she watched the moon climb higher.
When he ended the song with a flourish, her breath shuddered out. How many women had he slain with his music?
“Do you do anything but private concerts?”
“Just the odd party or wedding reception. I play with a trio of guys from Amarillo.” He shifted, straightening the leg nearest her to get more comfortable. “You meet lots of musicians in recovery.”
“Is that why you haven’t taken a shot at fame and fortune? Too many bad influences?”
“Music has never been about performing for me.”
“Says the preacher to the choir. Plus I hated all the downtime. Sitting around in strange towns with nothing to do between performances.”
“Yeah. That got me in a lot of trouble.” He adjusted a string on the guitar. “What else do you want to hear?”
“Sing me a rodeo song.”
He thought for a moment, then began to strum. She laughed when she recognized “He Rides the Wild Horses.” Instead of waiting for her next request, he went on from there, working his way through a medley of Chris LeDoux tunes—“This Cowboy’s Hat,” “Copenhagen,” and a kick-ass rendition of “Little Long-Haired Outlaw.”
Then the music and his voice turned as soft as the moonlight, and he dismantled her with the first line of “Just Look at You, Girl.”
Had Bing told him how much she loved that song about the woman with starlight in her hair? Or—her heart did a little swoon—did he just think it suited her?
The last notes faded into a silence so loaded that Carma was afraid to breathe. God, those lyrics. And the way he’d sung them, like they came straight out of his soul. Did she mean everything to him? Would he do anything to have her stay forever? It was so easy to believe when he looked at her that way.
“Carma.” Her name was a sigh. A plea. A prayer. He cleared his throat. “Before things get too crazy, I just wanted to say…”
She tensed, heart thudding in anticipation as he reached out to cradle her hand between both of his. Yes? Yes, please?
He kissed her fingers, then pressed them to his cheek. “Thank you. Quint, my mom, all the insanity in the office—I don’t know how I would have handled any of it without you.”
Oh. Oh. He was grateful. Intensely appreciative. That was…so not what she wanted to hear. “You’re welcome,” she whispered, not trusting her voice.
He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say more, then kissed her fingers again before settling her hand back on the blanket.
“I, um, have something for you, too.” Her fingers tightened around the stone, the broken edges digging into her skin. She’d had it in her possession since the day she’d found it. But there was a niggle in her gut that insisted this needed to be done. She held out her hand, palm flat, so the candlelight was reflected a thousand times over in the geode’s crystals. “Carry it in your gear bag this weekend.”
Gil started to reach out, then pulled his hand back. “Are you sure? I mean, it was given to you, specifically.”
“And now I’m lending it to you.” She fluttered her fingers in the air, going heavy on the drama. “The voices have spoken. I must follow their command.”
Gil laughed, then gingerly picked up the stone and cupped it in his hand. “Thank you. I’ll take very good care of it.”
“And vice versa.”
He tucked it in his pocket with a grin, then strummed a chord on the guitar. “Listen close, I’m playing your song.”
Five bars in she growled and kicked him in the thigh. He laughed, not missing a beat of Willie and Waylon’s “Good-Hearted Woman.” And she had to pretend every word wasn’t a blow as he sang her the ballad of a woman who kept hanging on to a man who could never give her the love she deserved.